


Give me love

by orphan_account



Series: Put your records on. [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Lovers, Modern AU, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing like love in Westeros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give me love

**I. Stay with me**

January kisses, they don't mean nothing to Drogo. He's a mover, perpetually on his bike, riding fast across the countryside. It's the bike that decides where Drogo wants to be, where he wants to go. In a way,it's the only steady thing in his life, his love, his woman. He's never been in one place long.

Did he never need a real girl, though? Not really. Sure, he's had his fair share of girls (lasses, maidens, women and whores) and they're strewn across his biking trail. It's always been a quick one night stand for Drogo, none of them ever stay for the morning, and he never goes looking for them. He rarely remembers their faces. They never want to come away with him. Never. And he does not expect that to change.

That's when Daenerys happens.

She's not the kind of girl he usually goes for, not the kind of girl he'd meet in a pub or a dance club. Not the kind of girl you'd think to see with a biker boy. He's been working on a deal with her brother Viserys, a slimy snake by all standards, and an idiot too. They meet entirely by accident, when she's leaving her brother's office, pretty hair dishevelled and eyes filled with tears. The image bores a hole in his mind, and he can't shake it off.

Viserys introduces them formally at dinner that evening, and he's never seen a prettier sight. She's got flashing eyes and silver in her hair, and it reminds Drogo of all those starry nights he's spent out in the moors. He sits in front of her, and for once, his mouth is dry and there's nothing in his head. She looks at him shyly and he doesn't need to say a thing. It's one of those cliche moments in those cheap rag films some of the girls he's slept with watch.

They dance around each other, and it seems that Viserys is throwing her at him, and that she wants nothing to do with the slimy bastard. But when she comes to his motel room one evening with mascara trailing from those eyes and a raw red bruise on her wrist, he knows he can't look away. And it leads to the sweetest kiss he's ever had.

"No?" he asks her softly, one hand on her waist, the other beneath her shirt. "Yes." She replies, and sinks into his arms again.

And when she comes to him on the morning he leaves (with Viserys left bleeding, broken deal and broken nose marking the battlefield), he knows there's never going to be anyone else. She's made a mark on him, and now, it's them against the world.

 

 **II. I**   **will steal you back.**

He's gone. And her side o' the bed's all cold.

Fucking copper. Fucking bloody Jon Snow.

But it weren't Jon  _Snow,_ were it? It was Jon  _fucking_ Targaryen, the newest Stark mint at castle black. Chief inspector Benjen's nephew. And she'd fallen for him.

Mind you, it's not like they hadn't known he was a copper. She'd faced the bastard in his bloody mint uniform the first day, and even though he could have dragged her back to the wall, he lets her go, heaven knows why. Maybe 'cos she's a woman. (He tells her later that it's 'cos he's got a little sister that she reminds him of. She replies by asking him if he'd slept with her too.)

And then they'd caught him, and he'd yielded. He'd turned on his superior, him that they call the half hand. Rattleshirt thought he were a mole. But then again, there weren't no reason to think he was. He was just another Northern turncloak. (Mance had a soft corner for that kind. Castle Black was a fucking rough place, and they say Mance himself used to be a copper at the wall.) And a bastard with no mama and no daddy. And they'd killed his brother at the Twins, when the high lords played their fucking game, and so many young men had died with that Stark brat. (Funny how she never thought that the Stark brat was the brother he was referring to.) There were plenty of Northern turncloaks. After all, Ygritte's folk, the free folk, were just fighting for their lands. (And running from the cold winds, them that they call "the Others"). And Northmen were more their kin than the Southrons. They shared the blood. They shared the land.

He was an honourable man though. A sweet fool, she thinks. With that smile he guarded like a gold mine, and the solemn long face, she'd wanted to map with kisses. (A face that all but screamed STARK!) It took her hell 'n' high water to get into his bed, but it was worth it. She thinks that there were fireworks all over the sky the night she stole him good and proper. 

Really, it was her stealing him, not the other way around, and she'd shot him in the leg, when they found out who he was, a mole from castle Black. (That  _fucking_ Targaryen boy, Orell said to Mance.) She'd hoped he'd fall, but he were Jon Snow, Castle Black's best recruit. And now, here he was, with his whole troup and posse, ready to beat out a pact with Mance, and Mance (fuck him) had actually agreed.

She corners him out in the yard, while Commissioners Baratheon and Seaworth beat out an agreement with Mance and Tormund. He's thinner than she last saw him. And sadder. 

"This were you weren'it Snow?" She asks. Castle Black was proud, why would they call a truce? He shrugs. "It was my idea, yes. Which is why I'm here. But Sam's the man behind everything else." He's modest, always has been. She guesses that's why she loves him (wait, Love?  _Yes love._ Got a fucking problem?)

She sidles close to him. "Yeh wanna know why I'm 'ere, Jon Snow?" She asks, all sweet. He turns to her, and there it is, that little smile that makes her all swoopy and giddy. And he shakes his head. She grabs him by the hair and pulls him to her.

"I'm 'ere ta steal yeh back."

 

**III. Last kiss.**

_He's gone._ Jeyne Westerling- Stark's known death. And grief. And loss. In more ways than one. 

But this. This one  _hurt._ More than any hurt had ever hurt her.

_It's all your fault._

Of course she knows that it's not rational. That it wasn't  _her_ hand that pulled that trigger. The trigger that emptied four bullets into her Robb. But deep down, there's this gut wrenching guilt that comes with the knowledge that  _Robb is dead,_ and that had it not been for her, he would have been the groom and not the wedding guest.

 _Organized assassination of mp and Northern councilmen._ The papers said. They seemed to fail to mention that it was a  _Lannister murder_ orchestrated by  _Lannister_ men. Bolton and Frey, Jeyne knew, even if no one else did, were merely Lord Tywin's catspaws. Nothing more nothing less. And Jeyne has no more energy left to hate them.

_Robb._

He was lovely. Sweet. She'd never call any man a gentleman ever again.  _Robb_ was a gentleman. And there was no one that could measure up to him. Ergo, there are no more gentlemen.

They'd met at God's eye, where he was leading a campaign against the Lannister corp. Again. She'd been there, the photographer for  _The Rock,_ a pro Lannister rag to boot. And they'd met, when she'd broken her camera reel, and he'd come with her to get a new one, even though it meant he was a bit late for the press interview. 

He'd asked her out that evening, and look where that had ended. Six months later, Brynden Tully had walked her down the aisle to her husband, Robb Stark MP of the Northlands. 

It was a sweet marriage, sugar and spice and candy floss. Even though it was not the easiest of times for the Starks, with trouble brewing both up North, in the riverlands and the iron islands. Theon had left Robb, furiously angry over some fight Robb wouldn't talk about. Even so, it was the worst of blows when they heard that he'd disappeared near the ruins of Winterfell. (Winterfell itself was a tragedy; the Starks' homestead had burned to the ground taking Robb's little brothers with him.) She'd kissed him and soothed him and made love to him so gently that they'd fallen in love all over again. She'd held them and their camp together when times were rough (though she was not as involved in the politics of the Northlands as her mother-in-law was).

And then it had gone to hell.

Jeyne supposes that she should blame Catelyn for making her stay back at Riverrun when Robb went off to the Twins. Perhaps she had known that the worst could happen, and wanted to keep Robb's wife, and perhaps his unborn child away from the trouble. And the worst had happened.

They were all killed. Shot. Bolton and Frey had turned on them and the Stark guests had been killed. For lack of a better word, annihilated. They were all dead, all her friends. SmallJon, old Maege, Torrhen, Dacey... And Catelyn. And Robb.

They'd killed her husband, and she had never said goodbye. Not properly. 

Of course there was no baby. Catelyn had been so wrong. She should have gone with them, died with them. Should have held Robb as he bled out. Should have given him one last embrace.

One last kiss.

 

**IV. Jump then fall**

They'd escaped together, her and Reek  _(Theon)._ It was tough, getting out of Ramsay's prison, but they did it. Somehow.

Jeyne doesn't like to think of how she ended up with Ramsey. It was pretty much no consent. He thought she was Sansa's sister, the missing Stark.  _(The children she grew up with; two dead, one missing, one a hostage, one on the wall Gods help him, and Robb... oh god Robb...)_

He'd locked her up in the biggest, darkest and coldest chamber in the Dreadfort. The torture chamber. It was his favourite room, and there was no two words about the fact that he loved being in it as much as Jeyne feared the place. The musty smell and the feel of damp blood running down her thighs....

It hurt her, what he did. And there was no lying back and taking it. He loved to hear her scream. It was his music. And he was a musician. The kind that loved to constantly be surrounded by their music. Day after day, she waited, praying to all the gods that this would end.

It had taken her long wnough to relize there was someone else in there with her. And longer to realize that she knew who it was.

_Theon._

 He was Sansa's brother's best friend, in some ways closer to Robb than even their cousin Jon. She  _knew_ him. He was that presence, that shadow, that non Stark who was so always with the Stark children. How was it that he was here?

She never found out. He was too broken.  _(Reek Reek it rhymes with squeak)._ There was only so much one could take of Ramsay Bolton's torture. 

Everything changed when Ramsay came in one day, laughing like the mad maniac he was. "Ah Reek," he said sweetly. "Did you hear?" Theon ( _Reek )_ looks at him. Ramsay grins like a maniac. "Your old pal, Robb's dead. Dead as a fish. Dead at his Uncle's wedding. How d'you like that, darling?" And Theon had shook like a bitter leaf in the dead of the winter, frail and ready to break off. 

In the end, that was Ramsay's undoing. Robb dying fired something in the half dead man locked up in there with her. He'd deviced a way out, broken open a window in his desperate grief. And for a moment, she thought he'd escape and leave her here to rot. 

But there he was, hand stretched out to her. And she took his hand.

"Well," he said, and she knows that he's still broken, still uncertain. But there was no time to talk any more. "Jump!"

And they fell out of the window into the moat outside. And somehow, they'd made it out.

And they'd survived.

Reek and the bolton bride. Theon and Jeyne.

 

**V. Wonderwall.**

Gilly's always been a timid thing. But there's never been anything that scared her quite so much as Jon Targaryen's half wolf husky. His name is Ghost and he's frightfully big, and awfully quiet. And when he bounds out of Castle Black, making his way ahead of the patrol, she drops everything and runs all the way back home.

Her father's awful fractious when the coppers from the Watch make it over from the Wall. They're ranging, looking out for inspector Stark, 'cos the connections are dead and he should'a been back days ago. He's rarely polite, but Commander Mormont gets the roughest edge of his tongue and the coldest of his greetings. He's not fond of them and they're not fond of him, but each needs the other; As Sam's mentor Edd Tollett had said; "the only difference between friends and enemies north of the wall is that friends will bury you when they've killed you."

She's gone out for wood. The old man's got heating and electricity, but he won't waste it on all his daughters. The weather is cold, of course it is. Mance Rayder reckons the others are coming, except father thinks Mance is an idiot, and a liar. She's gotten an entire armful when something big and white darts out through the trees. 

Gilly shrieks. It only scares her more when she sees that it's that half wolf monster of a copper dog. It stalks straight at her, and Gilly reckons that she's never been more scared. It's probably her last night on Earth, and that monster thinks that she's dinner.

"Oi Ghost! Stop scaring the lady, will you?" There's a huff puff of breath and the chubbiest guy she'd ever seen walks towards her. Surprisingly, the monster- _dog-_ pads up to him and licks his hand. He smiles at it and looks up at her, and she thinks he's got such kind eyes.

"Sorry." He says sheepishly. "He's a bit excitable, what with Jon off ranging alone. He asked me to mind Ghost but-" he stammers. She smiles shyly at him.

"'S alright. But yeh friend shoul'na be out this time. Not bout tha' woods." He looks a bit sad. "Well he's just a tad upset. Well a lot, really. We're looking for his Uncle Ben. And then there's his Uncle Eddard, who he grew up with and practically calls Dad, and he's been shot in King's Landing, and Jon's a bit broody 'bout it 'cos he thinks he should be with the rest of them, trying to get a trial for the killers. Eh, sorry" he smiles again. "Don't mind me. I'm always rambling. Sam, by the way." He throws out one pudgy hand. She takes it gently. It's all soft and squishy, and Gilly likes it. 

"Um Gilly."

And the rest, she thinks, now, nearly a year later, as she watches Ghost sniff at her baby, and lick at Sam's hand and all the watch and its coppers crammed in their tiny kitchen, is what they call history.

 

**Author's Note:**

> More on the way... possibly. What other pairings would you like to see? (RenLoras and SanSan coming up...)


End file.
